I could give you a long list of reasons why I stress. I could tell you how people aren't always decent. I could tell you what it's like to hurt and be hurt. I could tell you what it's like to lose faith and trust and even love. But instead, I will tell you about the dumb stuff that happens to me. Why? Because it makes me laugh.....eventually. It never makes me laugh at the time. But when the situation is diffused and I calm down, I laugh. So here comes my stupidity for the day.....and in a moment I will give you a short anatomy "lesson" if you will, and tell you how to scare the hell out of a cop. :)
Sunday as I was driving to my grandmother's house to have lunch with the family, I had to slam on my brakes to keep from hitting a dear and my whole crock pot of chicken tortilla soup went flying ALL over the passenger side of my car. I cried. Not little tears. Not a few sniffles. I arrived at my grandmother's house sobbing for all I was worth, tears and snot everywhere (pretty, I know), out of breath from crying, make-up smeared from tears and unable to even form a sentence that anyone could understand. Thanks to my lovely parents and aunts, my car got cleaned out and my tears got wiped. My breakdown subsided. But my car did not smell good. Hasn't smelled good all week. So today I decided I would go buy some carpet and upholstery cleaner and finally scrub my car like I should have done the first of the week. I took my car to the car wash. Where I was treated very rudely by an older gentleman who asked "Can you not READ!!!?" when I apparently failed to follow his directions before entering the car wash. You would have thought I was trying out for a position in an elite military operation. The man yelled at me. Not once. Not twice. But three times. More comments like "Can you seriously not READ and follow DIRECTIONS on the SIGN!!?". He was spectacular. And considering life has flipped upside down on me and I stay on edge, I was close to just climbing out my window and beating down one of my elders. But I was the bigger person and told him to have a nice day. After I called him a jackass and told him he needed to develop some people skills. Hey, I said I was the bigger person.....not a saint. After I came out of the car wash experience from hell, I drove around to vacuum out my car. Now considering I had a 40 pound bad of sand in the backseat of my car a few weeks ago (don't ask) that had ripped and spilled slightly, I knew the vacuum would be my greatest challenge. And it was. I fought the hose. I cussed the sand. I sucked up things that caused the vacuum to stop up and was scolded by another, equally cantankerous older gentleman. I was so flustered after my second round of verbal beat downs by mean old men that I managed to get myself tangled in the vacuum hose. And while I was trying to get myself loose from my predicament, I somehow got the hose next to my head AND my hair. Yep, I sucked my hair into the vacuum. Which wasn't great. But the final blow? When I managed to suck the flower in my hair into the vacuum. Yep, big yellow flower hair accessory....gone. Forever into the abyss that is public car wash vacuum hose land. To say I was pissed would be a massive understatement. And I did feel a few tears starting to form. I mean, it was just a car wash. It should have been no big deal. I stood there and took a few nice deep yoga breaths (thank you, Billy), calmed myself and finished up my vacuuming. When I got in the car and looked in the rear view mirror at myself......wow....just wow. My hair was sticking straight up in the air. In a Something About Mary sort-of way. The hair on the entire left side of my head was sticking straight up in the air.....defying all laws of gravity. I fought the vacuum. The vacuum won and made a nice meal out of my pretty yellow flower. And I was left with a hairdo to die for. Which explains the strange looks I had been getting from others while they were vacuuming. At that point, I just laughed. And laughed and laughed. Because in all of my teen years of trying and trying to get my baby fine hair teased and failing using every hair product known to man, I never knew all I had to do was use a vacuum cleaner hose. My parents could have saved a ton of money on hairspray.....and I could have been an 80's superstar.
Now on to the reason for the title of my blog post........
Nothing screams “thirty-five” and old age like baseline mammogram time. I have hit the mark. The point of no return. I am old. And since Botox will neither detect nor cure breast cancer, I shall continue to endure the God-sent yet created-by-a-man invention of mammography…….aka having my boobs smashed.
Soooo…..Tuesday was THE day. And I wore a dress for the occasion. Hey, I realize they were gonna be looking at what was under my clothes…..but still, a girl has to make an impression. Push up bra,
spanx, dress, flower in my hair…..the whole nine yards. Did any of that matter? Not one damn bit. Because I was given a robe and told to undress from the waist up. Simple enough….I took off my bra, but decided that the spanx stayed since it was one of those tops that comes to just below the bra line anyway. And I somehow felt protected by my spanx.....a little less exposed, if you will. I was given a big fluffy robe. With NO sash to tie it shut and sent back to the waiting room holding my dress and my bra in my hands. Now I know there were only women in the waiting room, BUT having to keep Pride and Joy concealed behind the confines of the open robe while holding my purse and dress and bra and fill out paperwork was just a bit too much multitasking. Therefore, I was not the least bit shocked when the lady sitting next to me got a nice view of my left breast. My mammography tech was a very nice older lady. When I opened my robe, I could read the look on her face quite well. It was a look of "Oh my, what are you wearing!" Apparently she doesn’t often see someone wearing nothing but leggings and spanx. Yeah, I should have rethought the whole dress thing and worn pants like a normal person. In all of my planning, the thought that I would be standing in a room with another woman in only leggings and a half-cut spanx top never occurred to me. Embarrassing. Completely embarrassing.
Now I know my breasts are quite large…..enormous may be a more accurate term. But the amount of squeezing and squishing I endured bordered on torture. Apparently breasts as big as mine require more pictures. Which equals more mashing and squishing and squeezing. All of which I would have been ok with......UNTIL she told me she was going to do my nipple area separately. I didn't really have time to consider this whole process before she had squeezed just the tip of my breast....MY NIPPLE....into the machine and flattened it out. And while my head was reeling from the pain, I had to try and concentrate enough to hold my breath. Sure. Why not. I'm about to faint anyway so breath will not be something that I need. First one nipple. Then the next. Men, this would be the equivalent of me putting an ice cold bowling ball on just one of your testicles and then stomping on it with my foot. Enjoy that visual (and I hope you just grimaced).
Mammogram complete. I take myself and my severely abused breasts into the dressing room and get dressed. When I step out of the dressing room and sit and wait until someone comes to get me, I watch all of these small breasted women getting their mammograms in record time. They aren't in the room three minutes. Unfair!!! I was in there close to 15 minutes. And guess what? My nipples are still in that room at Baptist in Nashville. Maybe not all of them. But at least pieces of each. They are still there...on the floor somewhere....blending in with the carpet.
Now I'm in my gynecologist's office waiting for round two of my day. Yep, the lovely breast exam/pelvic exam experience that every woman looks forward to all year long. Once again, I undress. This time I just keep my spanx on. Which makes the nurse shake her head. But whatever. I've just had my breasts squeezed off and I am not taking any crap from her. I am entitled to keep a little tiny bit of myself covered and I fully intend to....paper robe be damned! Having a man make conversation with you about the weather while he mashes your breasts with his fists is really extra special wonderful when you've just had them pulverized by a machine. I endure the pelvic exam. I leave like the trooper I am....down but not out. I brave the rain, get in my car and head home.
About halfway home, I get pulled over by some young punk ass cop or trooper or some form of law enforcement that gets paid a low salary to act like he believes himself to be Hitler with a badge. Which really is unflattering. And most unimpressive. Especially when I make more money than him AND have a better education and a higher IQ. What do I get pulled over for? Speeding. Five miles per hour over the speed limit. Everyone else is whizzing by at 90 mph. And I never speed. But I'm the one who got stopped. I could cry like some girls and try my luck at getting out of the ticket. But that crying shit doesn't work for me. No strange man with a bad attitude is going to make this girl cry. So instead I got pissed. He gave me his oh-so-impressive "do you know why I pulled you over" spill. Speeding.....dangerous....blah, blah, blah. Yes, I'm a criminal for going 75 in a 70. But everyone else can do at least 80. He asked me where I was going in such a hurry. I thought for a moment before I answered. And I decided since I already didn't like him and was having an ugly day in general, I would try and screw with his mind a little bit. I said "I guess I'm speeding away from Nashville because I just left my nipples on the floor of some exam room there and my breasts are numb from pain and I just had a man ram his arm up in me to his elbow to check my ovaries. Do doctors stick their whole hand inside you to check your prostate....or just their fingers? Because us gals get the whole damn hand. And quite frankly, I feel violated so I guess my mind is not up for concentrating right now. And my boobs really, really hurt (which I emphasized by grabbing them both and pushing them up) and I'm probably bleeding from vaginal trauma". I swear to you that is exactly what I said to Officer Too Cool. And the look on his face was PRICELESS. Sometimes being quick-witted is a blessing instead of a curse. I wish I could have snapped a picture with my iPhone. I felt spectacular for making this man almost choke on his own tongue. He stood there with with his smart mouth open for a moment. Then he stuttered something about slowing down and walked back to his car. For all of the ways I had been violated that day, I felt I had won a major victory. And that made my whole doctors appointment worth it. Because any time I can strike down a cocky man, I feel a major since of accomplishment.
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